Give and Take
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: It's been months since her divorce, but the distance between Red and Liz is greater than ever. One call and a rain-soaked night changes everything. Future Fic.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Set in the future and post-divorce. There are three chapters, and this one is the tamest. *face burns a little* M rating for Chapter 3. After the rating change, if you don't follow this story or take off the rating filters here, you won't be able to see the story.

This is a little bit different perspective on Lizzington, so I am begging for your thoughts. Begging, I say. Thank you so much for reading and commenting!

Disclaimer: As far as "The Blacklist" goes, I own nothing.

-0-0-0-

The rain beat down steadily, a gentle rumble that matched the volume of the radio. The windshield wipers slapped heavily against the windshield, but there were skips in their path, a dirt clod from the country road she now bumped along caught under the blade. With each pass of the wipers it bled an opaque line of clay-colored dirt right across her field of vision.

She swore. It had been over two hours since Dembe had called her, and she'd spent an hour getting out of the city and another hour wishing she was back there. Red seemed to have found the only dirt road in the D.C. suburbs, and she was now suffering his predilection for eclectic hideouts and pseudo-homes.

Elizabeth Keen knew about dirt roads; she'd grown up in Nebraska, for God's sake. But knowing about them didn't mean she missed them. Pastoral living just never seemed to suit her; as a teen she'd craved something bigger, more purposeful, and the Academy had afforded her a way out. She'd boarded the first plane out of Nebraska just a few days after graduating high school.

She was failing to the see the purpose in this, however.

The conversation had started out innocently enough. She'd gotten to know Dembe over the last few months. When her divorce had become final, Red had relied more on the brawny man to look after her; Dembe kept his distance but maintained a steady presence.

What she could not understand is why Red didn't look after her himself. Before her marriage crumbled, she'd felt a closeness with him that was hard to describe. Long nights working a case eating beef and broccoli out of the same takeout container. His hand on her back as they entered a room. His hands on her, chaste yet sensual-her elbow, her arm, so soft and fleeting and the contact so brief that it made her wonder if it had been there at all.

And the soulful way he looked at her. These moments-this life with him was the sum of many small things, habitual comforts the total of which she did not quite comprehend. The familiarity, the warmth he made her feel just by his mere presence had been a touchstone for her through some of her darkest times.

When she had needed him the most, though, he was nowhere to be found.

Over the past few months, Red seemed to retreat. She had not spoken to him in weeks, and Dembe had brushed off her persistent inquiries, assuring her that it was business and that he was fine. His apparent purposeful avoidance of her just didn't make sense.

When Dembe had called earlier in the evening, she was tired. She'd been hunched over a computer for most of the afternoon writing a field report for Ressler. He had a date with Audrey and Liz owed him for covering for her with Cooper last week, so when he asked if he could cash in the favor she begrudgingly accepted, the fantasy of a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine in her apartment dematerializing right before eyes.

When the phone rang it had been a glorious reprieve. What she had not expected was what she heard on the other end.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Dembe had grown quiet. She heard the sound of his shoes on the floor as he supposedly made is way from the room and found it curious; he and Red always appeared to maintain a certain level of transparency though she suspected there were things only known to Red. It would always be that way, she suspected. His secrets were probably both a comfort and a torment.

Dembe had lowered his voice, speaking quietly into the phone until he was finally out of earshot.

"Ms. Keen, I'm worried about Raymond. He's not himself. He wants to talk to you, but he won't say."

She remembered narrowing her eyes, not fully convinced that if Red wanted to speak with her that he wouldn't just call. "What happened?"

"Something must have bothered him on his trip...about his family," Dembe said in a hushed voice.

That got her attention.

"I thought his family was dead," she had said skeptically.

Dembe had paused, reluctant to say more. "You will have to talk to him about that," he said finally.

_Good luck with that_, she'd thought.

Liz had scribbled the address anyway, not entirely convinced that she would go to him. After all, it was getting late and she deserved that bath. Red hadn't so much as asked about her for all she knew. She had tucked the slip of paper under the corner of a file folder, meaning to forget it.

She was halfway to the door of her office when it hit her, that little needling feeling of guilt. _What if Red truly needed her? _She should go, she'd reasoned. He would do the same (and had done the same) for her.

_Damn her sense of loyalty._

Begrudgingly, she'd walked the few half steps back to her desk and retrieved the address.

So that's where she found herself, bumping along a dirt (no, mud) road in the pitch dark in the middle of a rainstorm on the way to see a man who may or may not welcome her.

Liz drove no more than a few miles further when she heard the familiar but sickening _fhwop fhwop_ coming from beneath the car followed quickly by a loss of steering control. She braked instinctively, swearing under breath. The last thing she wanted to do was change a flat in the middle of a downpour on a backwoods country road, but that's exactly what it looked like she might have to do.

She slowed considerably, driving on the rim until she found a solid piece of shoulder. If the ground was too soft, she'd get stuck she knew, so she took her time pulling over. She finally settled as safely off the road as she could and killed the engine.

Liz looked at her cell phone. _No service_. She tossed it onto the seat next to her. Defeated, she put her head against the wheel of the now-silent car and bumped it a few times, enjoying the little pricks of pain exploding against her skull. _Worst. night. ever._

Wearily she popped the trunk and trudged into the freezing rain, not bothering to hurry. There was no need. If she had an umbrella, there was no one there to hold it for her as she changed the tire. There'd never been anyone, she realized.

-0-0-0-

The rain had finally stopped when she arrived at the door of the old farmhouse an hour later, soaking wet and thoroughly pissed off. Pissed that she'd wasted an entire night chasing a man that hadn't even bothered to call her over the past few weeks. Who probably didn't care to see her now.

Liz stood amid the chipped white paint and the weathered boards of the wide porch and contemplated knocking. She bumped her leg on something angular and felt it move in the dark. A rocking chair.

The last place Liz ever expected to find Raymond Reddington was a farmhouse.

She knocked soundly several times, waiting for the familiar footfalls to manifest themselves in one way or the other. Regardless of the surfaced they strode upon, the steps were always quick, heavy, and purposeful. She rapped again, her patience already wearing thin.

The door swung open suddenly against the last knock. Her fist still hovered in midair, waiting to make contact with a surface that was no longer there. She looked up at Dembe and took in his slightly relaxed appearance. He wore a tight-fitting grey t-shirt and faded jeans, but his expression was worried.

"Agent Keen." The worry in his face seemed to ease some when he said her name, but quickly returned when he noted her miserable appearance.

She ignored his inquisitive looks but unconsciously bristled at the use of her fraudulent former name. She hadn't decided if she would keep it or not. Tom hadn't really been a Keen, after all, so the moniker meant nothing.

Liz brushed passed Dembe, stepping into the short corridor and looking down it as far as she could see. The farmhouse looked empty and lonely.

"Where is he," she inquired softly. Her original concern for him slowly began to defuse some of her previous ire.

Dembe pointed down the hall to a large opening on the right. A living room she, assumed. She made her way there without preamble.

From what little she'd seen of it, the farmhouse was modestly apportioned, somewhat rustic and old fashioned. A scarlet runner stretched along the short corridor, covering a scarred wood floor that was heavily lacquered. Wall sconces illuminated the short hall, spilling warm light against garish wallpaper in large blue filigree designs. Despite its closeness, the hall felt drafty.

She rounded the corner as the corridor emptied into a homey living room. A couch and an overstuffed chair sat facing each other over a squat coffee table. Small cherry end tables with hurricane lamps emitted a warm glow over the colorful woven rug covering most of the floor. Red was standing by the fireplace, but there was no fire. The absence of it seemed to draw life from the room, and she shivered in her wet clothes.

Red had his back to her and one hand on the mantel. He was studying his feet, the hearth, nothing in particular, seemingly lost in thought.

He wore a light grey suit, rather pieces of it. He still wore his vest, but it was open and hung slack on either side of him. His loose tie hung against a pristine white dress shirt rolled up at the elbows; it was still tucked into the tailored pants that seemed to accentuate one of his best physical features. With the absence of a suitcoat, she had a clear view.

Liz cleared her throat and she saw him straighten and freeze. He still had one hand on the mantel, but he drew it behind him as he turned slowly to face her. His other hand held a tumbler of amber-colored liquid.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was cracked and hoarse from lack of use. Instead of the familiar warm tones he reserved just for her, his diction was clipped and cold.

Red took in her ragged appearance. She still wore her work clothes and she was soaking wet. The jacket she wore over her white blouse was ruined with rain, the hem already misshapen and puckered. Her pants were in slightly better shape, but they still hugged her body with a cling that is standard for damp material, and the cuffs were muddy. She stood looking at him a little bewilderedly, her arms at her sides.

"Dembe called me," she said truthfully. She'd learned a long time ago the futility of lying to him. Her voice was hard and betrayed no emotion.

He worked his mouth and took another swig of the amber liquid. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're bleeding," he said nonchalantly.

She looked at him incredulously, at his cool, expressionless face, and then followed his eyes down to her feet. There on the hardwood floor was a modest sprinkling of little dot-sized splashes, water and blood intermingling. She held her hand out in front of her, looking at the jagged scrape in disbelief. _The tire iron slipped_, she thought absently. When Liz looked up he was staring at her from his place by the fireplace, and she found herself wishing it was warm and glowing instead of the grey recess it was now. Involuntarily, she shivered.

"And you're dripping all over my floor."

His expression had not changed, and the calm demeanor and his slightly acerbic tone began to stoke the embers of her previous anger. The usual ease he put her in just by his presence was nowhere to be found, and she suddenly hated him for it. For ignoring her the past months when she'd done nothing wrong. For being an arrogant ass.

"Oh I'm sorry," she said acidly, her eyes flashing as she began removing her jacket. She held the soaking garment out in front of her.

She pinned him with a hard gaze. "Is this better?"

She let the jacket fall with a wet slap where it immediately began ruining the rug.

Red had taken two steps toward her, but she hadn't seen him move. The tumbler was back on the mantel and he held his body tensely. She swallowed. There was a curious expression on his face, dangerous and familiar. She had seen him like this once or twice, but never with her. Never while they were alone in the middle of nowhere.

The air crackled between them. He reached out quickly and before Liz could even flinch he grabbed the injured hand, holding it roughly.

She gave it a little tug in protest, her mouth pursed stubbornly, but he held it firm. He turned it over slowly to examine it in the light, and she looked at him defiantly.

"It's just a scratch," he said quietly, and a muscle in his jaw clinched. A jagged line cut across her hand right above her scar, but it was superficial and wouldn't require stitches. He locked eyes with her over the ruined hand, his eyes softening a moment.

Ashamedly, Liz was glad when he released her and slipped out of the room. There was an uneasiness about him tonight that was unsettling, even more so than his usual intensity. She had seen Red angry and she had seen him pensive, but this was something completely different. This hit somewhere in the middle.

By the time she had finished taking in the soft, welcoming furnishings, the couch with the hand-carved wood scroll detail along the back and arms, he had returned with a small first aid kit.

He motioned for her to sit, herding her towards a straight-back chair near the doorway beside a small decorative table. He put the first aid kit on the table and knelt in front of her.

Red reached for her hand; it was balled in her lap and away from him, and he covered it with his. The warmth was so welcome, but his touch after so many weeks felt foreign and unfriendly.

Reluctantly she unfolded her palm like a spider retracting its legs, revealing the raw, oozing wound that was smeared bright red. He began to dab at the little hurt with a cotton swab, looking thoughtful and quiet.

She watched him work. His smooth skin was a half-shade darker, giving him a warm, tan glow and chasing away some of the shadows that usually resided under his eyes. Wherever he had been there was sun, she thought. It was a beautiful tone on him, accentuated even more by the brightness, the crispness of his dress shirt.

He remained oblivious to her study. He held his mouth, intent on the task, and said nothing.

The skin of her palm began to sting, and he felt her tense beneath his hands, felt her twitch away from him in reflex. Red paused and reached into the kit, withdrawing an aerosol. He began to spray the cooling liquid on her palm as his free hand went up to steady her over her scar. He placed his thumb flat against the raised flesh and felt her relax.

Liz quirked her mouth in a half-smile. This was the only way their relationship had changed since Tom's arrest...touching her scar. When he was around she found that he touched it or sought to touch it more than she did. Sometimes Liz thought it was to comfort himself as much as her.

"Are you going to tell me what happened Red."

She saw him swallow reflexively although he tried to hide it. His breathing changed minutely and he would not look at her face. Instead, Red studied the raw flesh of her hand, his own ministrations.

"What do you want to know," he said.

She paused, unsure of how to approach it, then decided to dive in head first. No games.

"Your trip. Dembe said it was about your family."

He paused. His fingers were warm over her scar, his thumb a solid, immovable presence. He made one pass over it, a smooth sweep that set fire to her nerve-endings. He looked up at her for the first time since working on her hand, and she felt his tighten snugly around her wrist.

"I don't have a family, Lizzie."

She said nothing, but the brief glimpse of anguish behind the stolid mask was enough for her to catch her breath. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, and the smooth, placid mask slipped back into place. Like nothing had happened, Red reached for a roll of gauze and began dressing her hand.

When her hand was finished he stood without speaking, closing the little kit but leaving it on the table. He turned away from her, retreating to from whence he came.

Liz examined his handiwork. The bandage was neat and precise, a textbook application. She thought briefly of how he had saved Ressler's life. If she'd been in that box with Ressler instead of Red he would've certainly died. She looked at Red with mild intrigue. There was still so much she didn't know about him.

She flexed her fingers experimentally, studying her hand. He must have applied a numbing agent because it no longer stung.

"You never called me."

His lip twitched and she could see his body stiffen almost imperceptibly. He turned to face her. He looked at her where she stood by her ruined jacket on the floor. Her hair fell in messy tendrils along her neck and shoulders, matted by the rain. Her face was dewy, and the tailored white dress shirt she wore clung tightly to her, thoroughly soaked. She must be cold, he thought, but he never saw her shiver.

He set his mouth. "No," he said.

She took a step or two toward him, her boot heels resounding loudly on the wood floor and the drenched clothes bunching awkwardly. "Why?"

He retreated a half step, his hands in his pockets, but his eyes never left her face. The give did not escape her. "I don't have to explain myself," he said darkly. "To you. To anyone."

The defensiveness surprised her, but she was careful not to show it. She advanced another step, and as Red turned to the mantel to retrieve his drink she boldly pushed his hand away.

He turned back to her, his mouth a hard line. He breathed slowly through his nose, steadying himself, and his eyes were dark.

Liz seemed unaffected by his little show. "Why do you think that," she asked, her voice intensifying. "Why do you get to be the only one who cares, Red?"

She'd moved slowly but steadily toward him until he was now backed into the fireplace where she first found him. She could feel the tension in his body, the hesitance, and felt empowered. She looked down at his mouth briefly before seeking his eyes.

"Or _do you_ care?"

He said nothing. He moistened his lips and looked back at her with the same bland, inflectionless expression.

"That's it, isn't it," she said with some revelation. She huffed a bleak laugh. "You don't care. Why else would you completely ignore me when I needed you the most? Why would you leave me alone, Red, when I needed you?"

She observed him passively, no small measure of disgust on her face. "You don't feel anything at all."

Her words seemed to injure him and he looked stricken. When he appeared unable to muster a response, she turned away from him.

He caught her arm roughly, his fingers pressing into the tender flesh of her forearm with force. "You don't know what I feel, Lizzie."

She looked at him, her throat constricting. Red's eyes were narrowed, and as roughly as he was treating her the pain on his face far exceeded what he was doing with his hands.

He seemed to realize he was hurting her and softened his grip until finally releasing it.

"They're all dead," he said flatly. "That's what I found out Lizzie." His eyes were two cold flecks of jade, his voice steel. "I've looked for them all these years and they're dead. My daughter. My wife."

Liz trembled under the weight of his words. _So Red had come to the end of his journey and found death. _

She ducked her head, feeling guilty for having been so selfish. When she finally met his eyes and saw a venerability there that was not standard for him. Liz longed to touch him, but she didn't know how.

"You could've come to me, Red. I could've helped you. We could've helped each other."

He looked away from her. "You can't help me Lizzie." His voice was cold and as distant as if he had never returned.

Liz set her mouth. "You don't want my help," she muttered. It angered her how he consistently pushed her away. She moved a step closer to him, purposefully invading his space, and cocked her head slightly. "Or do you find it too unbelievable that someone would care," she inquired softly.

He swallowed. She smelled like the rain, like a spring night, and every exposed patch of skin was covered in gooseflesh from the cold. Her skin had a cool whiteness that glowed faintly, and he longed to touch it.

Red's eyes flicked to her chest. He'd never allowed himself to truly appreciate her breasts, at least not where she could see him, but he did so now unabashedly. The wet shirt betrayed the bra beneath, and its lace shone a ghostly pale blue through the material like skin over veins. Both of her nipples were hard as they strained against the tortured fabric. He licked his lips.

"You should leave," he said tightly, his voice low and rough.

Liz met his eyes, already warmed by his new attention to her, the way it made her feel. Their mutual attraction had gone mostly ignored by both of them, and when it was entertained it certainly wasn't this overt.

"I don't want to," she said simply. She moved even closer to him.

He reached out and touched the edge of her wet sleeve, rubbing it between his fingers. He never touched her skin. His eyes lit on her breasts again, the hollow of her throat, her mouth, and finally her eyes.

"You need to."

She put her arms out and on either side of him against the mantel, pinning her body against his. The cold from her blouse began to leach into the front of his shirt beyond his open vest. He could feel her nipples tight against him.

"You don't know what I need," she said.

-0-0-0-

Chapter 2 is forthcoming. I do hope you hang around despite the rating, and please don't leave without dropping comment! This took a while to write and I never really know how something is going to work until it goes public. Thank you again :).


	2. Chapter 2

***Please note the rating change to M. If you do not follow the story or remove filters, you won't see the update to this story in the main thread.***

I'm behind on replies, (sick at the moment and RL is quite real) but I can't thank you all enough for the warm reception you've given this story. I'm overwhelmed. Thank you again for your overwhelming support.

P.s.: I loved that some of you were appalled by how Liz was never offered a towel when she first arrived. *Spoiler Alert* Red makes it up to her in Chapter Two :).

Summary: Red extends a little hospitality

-0-0-0-

A ghost of a smile played on his lips, but his eyes held a sort of dark amusement in light of actual mirth. He looked past her to the doorway where a neatly folded bundled had materialized on the small table there.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes," he said quietly. "You'll get sick."

She pressed her lips together, worrying the light berry stain, and regarded him thoughtfully. "That's an old wives' tale Red," she said a little huskily. Her mouth quirked into a soft smile, and her eyes were warm. She still had her hands on the mantel on either side of his head, trapping him in her space.

"Still. It's better to be safe than sorry," he said glibly. He then swiftly evaded her by ducking under her arms and moving towards the doorway, leaving her alone. Liz turned, stunned, and stared blankly at him.

Red had the small bundle in his hands when he stopped halfway to her and placed it on the back of the couch. His eyes were warm but had a hard edge. "Come here," he said.

She did so a bit stiffly until she stood before him, her lips slightly parted and her eyes full of questions. For a moment he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the rapid thrum of pulse in her neck before stepping in close and leaning forward, completely enveloping her in his scent.

She inhaled, unable to stop herself. The instantly recognizable scent of his aftershave settled over her like a comfort, an aroma she had missed as much as the man himself.

Heat from his body shimmered against her cool flesh, promising warmth and refuge. She felt her pores open like a flower seeking the sun and unconsciously leaned closer to him.

"Turn around," he said. The rich timbre of his voice carried a note of gentle authority.

Liz looked at him for a moment, reluctant. His expression did not change, nor did he amend his statement. He only looked at her. After a few moments, she slowly turned her body until her back was to him.

The center of the room had a draft from the hallway, and she stood there with her arms folded trying to hide the shiver. She heard him move behind her, soft, stirring movements, and her stomach quickened. Not being able to see what he was doing was both thrilling and terrifying. Liz held her breath as another shiver wracked her body, one that was not entirely due to the soaking cold.

Finally, she felt a soft towel settle on her hair. Red's hands were beneath it, soaking up the excess water. It was fresh from the dryer, and its warmth seemed to permeate her chilled skin all the way to the bone.

A small sigh escaped her lips, and he saw the tension in her shoulders relax a little. He leaned in close.

"This is what you need," he said into her ear.

She closed her eyes. Red's tone was sensual, enigmatic, and while she did not fully grasp his meaning, the statement was if he had strummed a guitar string and the reverberation still resonated deep in her belly...the warmth of his words, the dark promise.

Liz leaned into his touch. His able hands took every tendril and dried it, taking his time until her hair was merely damp and no longer dripping. His fingers trailed along her shoulder just long enough to gather her tresses, slipping beneath the collar of her shirt more than once and causing her breath to hitch. She had not had a man dry her hair since she was a little girl, and Sam certainly never did it like this.

He turned her around by nudging her shoulders until she faced him once more. Her eyes were heavy and he could see the desire there but also trepidation. Her newly dried hair hung in wisps and waves, the moisture betraying the natural curl and gently framing her face. He locked eyes with her, finding the same connection that had been standard for them so many months ago, before he left, before so much happened. Whatever they shared seemed to have lost none of its power.

He should never have left, he thought, not for so long. He knew that now.

She watched his eyes as he reached up to touch her hair, hesitant and reverent, seeming to marvel at the soft waves and the way the dim light caught the glint of gold and auburn he somehow had missed until now.

Red's face changed, then, a determined set to his mouth as his hand fell to the top of her blouse and began working the button there.

Her eyes grew wide and reflexively a hand went up to still his movements.

He stopped, allowing her for a moment to thwart his actions, his hands still poised at the pearl button. Then, he took the hand that covered his own and straightened the arm against her side. His mouth was at her ear-intimate. Possessive.

"Do you want to wear these wet clothes all night?"

He still held her arm, his fingers lightly pressing against her scar as if it were a pause button. She protested a little against his hands, and he could feel her tremble slightly.

"No, but I'd rather do it myself," she said stubbornly. She met his gaze and noted that the dark expression had returned, joined by a shimmering thread of desire. A sudden chill shimmied up her spine.

"That's not an option," Red said calmly. He looked at her mouth and worked his own. He released his grasp on her only to settle his hands at the hollow of her throat. Red teased the gooseflesh there with the warm pads of his fingers, lightly stroking the delicate tendons that defined the graceful architecture of her neck.

His lips glanced across her ear, his warm breath stirring the feathered locks framing her face.

"Now don't talk and don't move."

Unbidden, an exhalation escaped her lips. A thrill of anticipation straightened her spine, then, a hint of panic. She had not heard Dembe for awhile. He must've gone, she realized. They were alone.

She stood stock-still, complying with his request. One of his hands was warm against her face, and while she did not lean into it, she closed her eyes. His thumb made little sweeps against the line of her jaw, every touch warming her further.

"You're so beautiful, Lizzie," he almost whispered. He said it like a prayer, like someone who was familiar with the words on his tongue.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the feelings brought about by his words. He had never touched her like this, with such clear and genuine meaning. All of their previous contact had been explainable, even utilitarian.

Red trailed his hand down to caress her neck briefly before lighting on the collar of her shirt. He was working the third button before she realized he had released the first one.

"Open your eyes."

She did so and locked eyes with him. His held a tenderness that she had seen only a few times from him.

She sucked in a breath as his warm hands made contact with her skin. His knuckles grazed along the valley of her breasts, the delicate skin of her abdomen as he worked each button, the touches tenuous, a gentle breeze skating across her skin. He worked carefully, methodically, until he had freed the last one.

Red opened her blouse with both hands, gently peeling back the damp fabric like the spent petals on a rose. He moved his eyes over her impassively, casting a furtive glance at the swell of her breasts, the light blue lace he had seen the ghost of earlier. His throat tightened.

He swept his hands over her shoulders and pushed the shirt down her arms, leaving it still tucked into her pants. The sleeves of the shirt immobilized her upper body somewhat, and she felt a momentary rise of panic.

Red noted the tension in her face, the surprise, and took her lightly by the shoulders, pulling her to him. She did not protest as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her until he felt the wiry tension in her upper body begin to ebb. He felt her head drop, her cheek against his shoulder. A long, shuddering sigh escaped her, a broken sound of release.

When he withdrew, he dipped his face to her neck, breathing her in. She could feel his eyelashes close against her throat, his warm breath on her collarbone.

She began to tremble, and his hand went up to caress the back of her neck, his fingers resting just below her hairline. He gently kneaded the tight muscles there before leaning in so close their breaths mingled.

He pressed his lips to hers, soothing her apprehension with their first kiss. The heat of that first contact, the intensity of the emotion behind it took him off-guard. He wanted to pull away, to regroup, but the small delighted sounds rising from the back of her throat and her eager mouth kept him moored to her. Soon the little sounds were smothered out by his tongue, hot and insistent as he pressed deeper into the kiss.

She strained against her trapped arms, wanting to embrace him, yet it was no use. She grunted in frustration.

Red smiled and withdrew enough to whisper in her ear. "I know this is hard for you," he said quietly, "but both of us can't lead."

The repetition of what he'd said to her while dancing at the Syrian embassy made her feel slightly out of control. For the first time she realized what he had meant before. _"This is what you need."_ No one had ever known her like he did. No one ever would. The freedom afforded her by the temporary restraints began to settle like a soothing balm. She needed this, she realized. She needed him.

With her arms still pinned, he smoothed his hands at her sides, against the skin of her back, her shoulders, a gentle compressing touch. When he encountered the pale blue strap of elastic, he slid it from her shoulder and kissed the skin beneath it.

She hummed, a low contented sound that warmed the space between them. Her arousal was such now that she was glad she was in such a state; her mind was a complex tangle of emotions, thoughts dulled by single-minded desire.

His hands made a delicate pass over her collarbone, then around to her breasts, and she struggled to keep still. He covered the lace with his hands, feeling the tight nubs against his palms.

He grunted, burying his face against her neck as he caressed both breasts.

"Red," she gasped, unable to keep silent any longer. She felt his mouth open against her, his teeth teasing the tender flesh of her throat. A thumb nail outlined the stiff peak of one of her breasts before his hands went around to unfasten her bra.

Red flattened his tongue against the smooth skin just below her ear and lathed kisses there. She tasted salty with just a hint of perfume coupled with that clean rain smell.

Liz felt the clasp give way and the bra spring open against her arms.

He pulled her to him then, folding her into a warm embrace. Even through his shirt, the heat of him warmed her previous chill, and he trailed his hands down her exposed back.

Being in his arms, topless and venerable, was like reliving a memory she'd never made; it felt nostalgic. It felt complete.

He tightened his arms around her and felt her body soften against his. Slowly, he began tugging the shirt out of her pants, pulling the fabric until it hung loosely. He worked the button on her sleeve and freed one arm, then the other.

She remained still, her chest heaving gently. With her arms freed he allowed her to pull them through the shirt sleeves where he was able discard the shirt and the bra both. He let them fall to the floor.

Liz stood facing him, her chest bare and her hair falling over one shoulder. Her lips were pressed together and she had a warm blush on her cheek.

"Say something Red."

But he didn't. He strode toward her slowly, his eyes flitting from her shoulder, her mouth, then down to her chest, restless in his attempt to see all of her at once. He finally stood before her, tightly coiled and leaning toward her slightly. A hand went up to caress her breast, but stopped just short of touching it. She moved to lean into him, but he withdrew his hand.

He heard her disappointed sigh, observed the way she closed her eyes against his near-touch. His hands went to her arms, taking them and guiding them up over her head.

Red took a sweatshirt from the back of the couch and opened it, sliding her arms through the sleeves, then settling it over her head. When she reemerged he was looking at her, a soft smile on his face. His hand went up to push the errant hair away from her eyes, and she smiled back at him.

The sweatshirt was grey and fleece-lined, with the words NAVY in large block letters across the front. It was his, she surmised, and the thought warmed her.

He smoothed it down over her body, giving her sides a little squeeze as the garment situated over her hips. It was a little too big for her, but she looked ravishing anyway. His mouth went dry.

Red went to his knees, his hands trailing under the hem over the sweatshirt just enough to unfasten her pants. She exhaled, shifting her hips restlessly, and he felt her cool hands and the flat scrub of the bandage settle on his head. It give him momentary pause, and his hands stilled.

He lifted his head to look at her, and one of her hands went around to cup his face, her fingers perched beneath his chin as if studying a treasure.

He averted his eyes, staring instead at the zipper as it traveled downward and her hands fell away. His eyes caught the pale blue luminescence of her panties glowing softly in the dim light, the same color as her bra. He touched the waistband with the tip of his finger and she made a little sound through her teeth.

As the pants slipped down her hips, he let her toe off the ankle boots she wore, secretly wishing he could see her in heels and his hat and nothing else. His jaw clenched at the thought, and he was so lost in the fantasy that he didn't see her moving toward him.

Liz grabbed him by the collar, kissing him roughly, and he was taken aback. Her tongue breached the barrier of his lips, the restraint she'd exercised under his command completely abandoned. Her hands held is face steady as she seared him with the heat of her mouth, her want of him, and he responded in kind. Liz withdrew long enough to breathe, glancing at him briefly. She smiled before nipping along the line of his jaw as she pushed him toward the couch.

His hands went under her shirt, caressing her thigh and letting his hand slip around to test the heat between her legs. She pushed into him seductively, encouraging his exploration, and felt him shudder.

He tightened his hand on her in response, eliciting a throaty sound he'd often fantasized about coaxing from her. Liz moved her mouth to his neck, sucking at the taut flesh, and she could feel his breath catch in his throat.

They'd reached the edge of the couch; Red could feel the cushion pressing into his calves. He grabbed her leg roughly, drawing it around him, but she pushed his hand away. She put some distance between them.

"No," she said warningly. "You've had your fun Red." She pushed on his chest with enough force for him to fall back against the couch.

"Now it's my turn."

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How am I doing? Please leave a comment on your way out, they truly make my day!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I can't thank you enough for the support for this story. I have treasured every comment. Feedback truly is fuel, and your comments keep me writing.

*clears throat, blushes a little*. Please let me know what you think of how I leave them :).

Please note this chapter is rated M.

Summary: Liz gets answers

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He sank back into the supple cushions of the couch and stared up at her. His Navy sweatshirt struck just below her ass, skirting the top of her smooth thighs.

Honestly if for the shirt alone, he'd never been prouder of his military service.

She moved one shapely leg over his slouched form and settled in his lap, twisting her hips a little against his rigid length. He sucked in a breath. Red's face was flushed and his pupils were dark. Liz had never seen him more desirable.

"I'll tell you a secret," Liz said sultrily as she leaned over him, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. A curtain of hair fell over his face and he caught a whiff of that clean rain scent from before.

"You have to answer a question though."

He was looking up at her with a soft, slightly bemused expression coupled with pure desire. His hands moved across the couch and up her thighs to settle at her waist.

He quirked his mouth and rubbed the material of the sweatshirt between his fingers, feeling the fleece underneath already warmed by her skin. His eyes never left her face.

"That seems reasonable."

She smiled and covered his hands before removing them. She left them at his sides on the couch while she went up to work his tie, grinding into him subtly as she changed positions. He grunted softly at the contact, his Adam's apple bobbing under her ministrations, the nimble fingers at his neck. The tie was already loose, so she was able to strip it from his collar rather easily. Liz let the silk slide languidly through her fingers, wrapping it once, twice around both of her hands. She held it out between them and stretched it tautly, testing its tension.

Red swallowed, a predatory gleam in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched.

She let the tie fall and rest against his shirt as she grabbed both of his hands. She brought one of them to her lips, cupping her face with his open palm and kissing the soft skin just below his thumb.

"When I first met you," she began, her moist lips brushing against the inside of his hand, "and I saw you shackled to that chair..." she dropped the hand, putting both of his together and began winding the tie around his wrists. "I wanted you."

Those three words rang in the air between them, and for the first time she saw Raymond Reddington visibly shocked.

"I was intrigued," she continued, working the tie into an intricate knot. "I thought, _who is this man that is so dangerous he has to be chained like an animal_?"

He instinctively moved against her, an upward thrust of his hips, and she squeezed her legs against him in admonishment. There was a devilish glint in her eye, and the imminent truth that he was about to lose the use of his hands was nothing short of cruel, because he had a few ideas of what he might do with them.

Finished with the knot she appreciated it critically, satisfied with her work. Smoothly, she moved his conjoined hands over his head and hooked the tie onto the scroll detail on the back of the couch.

"Lizzie," he grunted, and moved against her as much as his arms would allow. She laughed quietly at his distress and put a hand on his chest to settle him.

Liz lowered her face to his and nipped at the corner of his mouth. "Shh...Red. I'm not finished."

She smoothed her hands along his open vest, digging her nails lightly into the chest hair she could feel beneath the fine material of his dress shirt. She pressed her heat solid against him, making him squirm.

"So I was intrigued," she continued. "And I thought about you that night. I fantasized about making love to you in that chair, Red, and I touched myself."

He made a low noise and pulled some against his restraints. She leaned further over him, her hands on the back of the couch, her mouth inches from his.

"It's ok," she said quietly. "I know you're used to being in charge, Red." She smiled. "But so am I."

She kissed him then, the way she had wanted to before and felt him instantly relax.

"Now it's time for the question," she said seriously. "And if you don't lie to me, I'll let you go."

He looked at her pointedly. "I've never lied to you Lizzie."

She smiled and caressed his face gently, letting her thumb smooth along the corner of his mouth. "There's a first time for everything," she said a little sadly.

He knew then by the distant look in her eyes that she was thinking of Tom, of the ultimate betrayal and how foolish she'd felt in this whole affair. Lizzie prided herself on her profiling skills, he knew; she'd been so blind, and he'd been so absent. He closed his eyes and leaned slightly into her palm.

She sat back a little on his lap and withdrew her hand. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

It was the tone more so than the words that caused him to look up. Her eyes were soft and questioning, her arms lax at her sides.

Red worked his mouth, pausing a moment before speaking. "I don't trust myself with you," he said a little haltingly.

She frowned and trailed her fingers up his chest, twisting open the buttons on his shirt with one hand as she went.

"Are you afraid you'll hurt me Red?"

He narrowed his eyes. "No," he said quickly. She watched as an inscrutable emotion played across his face. His eyes met hers.

"I've fallen in love with you Lizzie."

She stopped. Her hand stilled, even recoiling a bit as if his flesh would burn her. Liz must've been holding her breath, because air escaped her lungs in a ragged sigh as she regained awareness. She splayed her fingers inside the opening she'd created in his shirt, her hands against the warm skin over his heart.

"Red..."

He shook his head minutely as if the candor was painful for him and was best done quickly.

"There was a lead on my family, on what might have happened." He blinked and his eyes were moist. "I didn't want to involve you in that."

His heart beat steadily against her palm where it was pressed against the downy hair on his chest. Her mouth was dry and her eyes fixed totally on him.

"I love you Lizzie, but I can't-" he shut his eyes tight, searching for the appropriate words but only having them shimmer at the edge of his waking mind, stubbornly out of reach.

"Everyone I love dies."

She drew in a breath, and he felt the soft weight of her head settle beneath his neck. She exhaled, the warmth of her breath dusting his skin. A free hand absently rubbed small circles over his pectoral muscle as she relaxed against him.

"I'm not going to die, Red." She felt him tense regardless, and the sigh that escaped his lips feathered her hair. There was so much sadness wrapped up in the sound that she bit her lip. She angled her head to kiss his neck and pressed her lips to the jagged scar where the chip had been.

Liz sat back and placed her hands on his face, wanting to comfort him but feeling inadequate. He spoke before she could think of something to say.

"You've come close a couple of times since knowing me," he said flatly.

She couldn't deny the truth of his words. If Red hadn't walked into her life, she'd be a deskjockey in a cubicle of the Behavioral Sciences division at the Washington field office right now.

_How boring._

She smiled and leaned over him to where his wrists were still tied to the back of the couch. She began loosening the bonds.

"But I'm very much alive Red," she said as she worked behind him. He could almost reach the valley of her breasts with his mouth, even through the baggy shirt. Almost, but not quite. When she was done, she put a little space between.

"And I'm going to stay that way," she said meaningfully.

His arms slipped free and went to rest at his sides. Slowly, he inched them up to caress her hips where he sat pinned under them, making slow passes with his hand across the smooth skin there, happy to touch her. His hand slipped under the waistband of the sweatshirt, advancing until he reached the leg of her panties.

She drew her lip between her teeth, smiling knowingly, and he graced her with a small quirk of his mouth.

"You'll keep me safe," she said.

He gave her thighs a little squeeze and his eyes glittered. "I'll always keep you safe, Lizzie."

She knew it to be truth; it had always been truth, probably for most of her life.

His rough hands were against her under the shirt, gliding slowly up her spine. She arched her back in response, his hands cooler now against her overheated skin. She pressed into him and he pulled her closer.

Their faces were inches a part, and Red's mouth hovered over hers. He looked at her in question.

"Are you sure you want this?" His voice was a little more than a quiet rumble humming against her skin.

She locked eyes with him, withdrawing a little so she could fully see his face as her hands went up to the back of his neck, her fingers slipping beneath his collar.

"We've gone too far to turn back now."

He huffed a laugh. "Oh we're speaking in clichés now?

She gave him a knowing smile and her eyes twinkled. "Whatever blows up your skirt."

A darkness passed over his face momentarily as he remembered Anslo Garrick, but it was gone just as quickly. Anslo had known even then how he felt about his Lizzie. _Had it been so obvious?_ Red returned her smile, but it was bittersweet.

Liz moved her hand around to his face, her fingertips barely grazing the skin of his cheek now speckled with stubble. There were tears in her eyes.

"I've loved you for a long time, Raymond Reddington. I've just been afraid to admit it."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He felt breathless, the desire to keep her at a safe distance still so strong. She felt him sag a little and her hand went down to trail against his neck, quietly kneading the juncture of his shoulder.

"It's ok," she said. "More than ok." She smiled and kissed him softly, and he pulled her closer to him.

"But now we have to do something about that," she said into his ear.

She moved down to his open shirt, releasing the last few buttons until the finely tailored dress fabric fell open against his sides. For a moment she reveled in his bare chest, the fine blond hair and the tan skin stretched over the lean muscle of his finely toned shoulders and arms. She pushed the shirt back and away, tugging it out of his pants a little hurriedly.

His mouth found her neck, and he made a soft, dangerous sound against her skin as he made light contact with his teeth. She gasped, feeling out of control, feeling both helpless and powerful as a surge of heat engulfed her.

Red's hands were relentless, sliding up her sides beneath the fabric and curving around to cup a breast. She heard him sigh as he drew his mouth away from her neck, a bereft sound that echoed in the empty farmhouse. He hooked his hands under the hem of the shirt and pulled it smoothly over her head.

He stopped long enough to take her in. Though he had seen her earlier, he had not truly _looked_ with the sort of luxury he would have liked. He wanted to memorize every freckle, every apparent flaw. Everything that made up Elizabeth Keen was worth knowing.

She watched him look at her freely, feeling embarrassed at first but then freed by the unbridled devotion and pure love he lavished on her with just a glance.

This man would never leave her, she thought, would never betray her.

He smiled at her softly, trying to read her mind. Then, his smile broke into a wicked grin as he dipped his head and drew her breast into his mouth.

She gasped, completely unprepared for the heat of his mouth, the light scrape of his teeth against her sensitive flesh. She moaned and her hands went to his close-cropped hair, combing it with her fingers as she pressed his head to her.

Suddenly he withdrew and shifted on the couch, setting her down roughly on the cushions beneath him as she cried out in surprise.

Red chuckled darkly, the sound increasing the ache between her legs. She shifted her hips into him, needing relief, needing whatever she could take from him. Her hands went down his back to cup his ass, and she heard him he suck air through his teeth.

Red kissed her, lathing her neck with his tongue as a hand was on her breast, teasing a nipple until pain and pleasure disappeared into a thin grey line.

It was then that Liz realized all the power, the passion and the darkness of the man was solely directed at her.

She smoothed her hand down his chest and to the waistband of his pants. Her shaky fingers fumbled with the belt buckle.

"You are wearing entirely too many clothes," she said through clenched teeth, barely grunting out the words and surprised she could even form them.

He smiled broadly, bracing himself on one arm as his hand went down to assist her. He stripped off the belt and it landed somewhere away from them. He stood then, divesting himself of the rest of his clothes.

Liz felt his absence like a cold blanket settling over her, and her hand trailed down her belly and between her legs, seeking momentarily relief.

His breathy laugh was against her before she knew he'd drawn her hands away. He pinned both of them softly beside her head as he settled on top of her.

"No secrets tonight," he said against her skin. "No need to pretend."

She grew still beneath him, but her desire flared more urgently than ever as she felt the tease of his naked flesh against hers. She flashed her eyes at him hotly. "Then don't keep me waiting Red."

He did not answer her, intent on his exploration of her smooth calf, the toned legs he'd spent so many late nights admiring as they folded under her on the couch in her apartment. How many nights had he dreamed of taking her there in that drab little room? Or in one of his many hideouts. Or on Harold Cooper's desk.

His fingers flexed restlessly against her, toying with the waistband of her panties. He hooked a thumb under them and slid them smoothly down her legs where she pushed them off with her feet. The friction of her legs against each other only teased her core, causing her to grunt in frustration.

Red soothed her disquiet with a flat palm on her stomach, drawing little teasing circles over her belly button with his thumb. He bent his head to place an open-mouthed kiss there, the skin silken against his lips.

She arched a little into him, and his hands floated down to lightly brush her sex. He flicked his fingers, a momentary contact, and she twisted against him.

He parted her legs beneath him and pushed into her.

The hot length of him filled her completely and she gasped a little at his girth. He was still for a moment, his face flushed and eyes locked on hers. She felt herself contract and relax against him, closing her eyes momentarily against the physical and emotional effect of Red inside her. She released a breath she wasn't aware of holding, blowing it out slowly before she nodded her assent and he began to rock into her.

She hooked a leg around him, pivoting her hips to allow him deeper access, and his face dipped to her neck where she felt the vibrations of his moans with every thrust. Neither of them would last long, she realized, and she didn't care.

He quickened his pace, withdrawing almost completely before slamming against her core with every stroke. She matched his rhythm, her fingers pressing into his back until the pads were white.

"Red." It was a strangled exhalation, one that fell unbidden from her lips. She felt herself slipping, spiraling into oblivion. Every nerve-ending tensed in anticipation, bracing for the inevitable onslaught of her orgasm, and Liz intended to take him with her.

She could tell he was close. One hand was at her waist, steadying her against him. Her mouth found his and she kissed him roughly, drawing his lips between her teeth. He moaned and the guttural sound went through her body like electricity.

It was all it took. The tenuous hold she had on reality shattered as she tumbled over the edge, her body a vice against him. A few soft cries spilled from her lips unchecked and he muffled them with his mouth.

With one final stroke he followed her; his face buried in her hair as his body arched into hers. He said her name, over and over he said it until his body sagged against her. A sweet peace fell between them. He placed a kiss against her hair, another one against the silk of her eyelids. She smiled.

They lay entwined, breathless in the stillness. The house was no longer empty.

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End file.
